


Frontways, Backways, Sideways

by Driverpicksthemooseic (Ratkinzluver33)



Series: Twitter!Verse [3]
Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bat Family, Crack, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, I wrote a third one, I'm at it again!, If it weren't for those meddling kids???, Multi, Oh god, Relationship Advice, Tumblr, Twitter, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1374748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ratkinzluver33/pseuds/Driverpicksthemooseic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a virtual relationship counsellor is hard, especially when your family starts begging you for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frontways, Backways, Sideways

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a third installment. I am terrible. I can't stop.
> 
> Oh, and an extra note for you, as well! Nobody's really left the Bat Family in this one. Everyone's kind of, just, *there.* I don't  
> even know. There are, like, ten Batgirls and Robins, anyway. DC is character promiscuous. Or, you know, really creative. The people at DC must not like green. ;)

He wakes up to blue. It's kind of confusing, because his ceiling was cream last time he checked. Then he realises it's just Damian's intense glare.

Wait, hold up.

The house has a few rules. Rule three, his favourite, is that household residents are to always knock on the door before entering. Damian, with the stick permanently lodged up his ass, should know this best of all, yet he seems to be blatantly disregarding it. So, to put it simply, Tim's not happy.

"Damian, I'm citing-"

"Rule number three, yes. I refer you to amendment twelve: in the case of an emergency, no knocking is necessary. This is an emergency."

From the lack of smoke, explosions, gunfire, Bruce's disappointed glaring, or Krypto, Tim has to assume that there is, in fact, no emergency. He gives Damian an angry look. "You're not bleeding. It's also three in the morning. Explain."

"I'm in urgent need of your expertise," Damian says, reluctant, as if asking for help physically pains him.

"My expertise?" Tim questions.

"I want to _'initiate a relationship'_ with Colin Wilkes. You know, short, has red h-"

"Yeah, Dami, I know who you mean. You only bring him to the house ten times each week."

"Well, good. Then you'll know just what I me-"

"It's three in the morning. Please, could you come back later?"

Tim promptly turns over and goes back to sleep. If there's one good thing about being a cold-hearted vigilante, it's the ability to ignore people. This tends to help him sleep with ease, no matter the situation. It's a pretty great skill.

* * *

At a more reasonable hour -- five o'clock in the morning, to be precise -- Damian comes crawling back. Tim's icy heart is thawed by his younger brother's stupid puppy eyes (damn it, Krypto!), and he's unable to turn him away.

" _Now_  I can help you get into your boyfriend's pants."

Damian, who apparently knows just how to please, has brought herbal tea. It's become somewhat of a necessity in past weeks, now that Tim's become Dick's second advice-giving apprentice. Jay has apparently drank enough tea and spouted enough emotional bullshit to graduate into a full-blown social justice blogging agony aunt. He's truly legit now. Tim's, of course, extremely proud, even if Jay's advice does tend to lean towards the "ahhh, whatever, just tell them you wanna fuck 'em frontways, backways, and sideways" side.

Apparently that works for some people.

"I brought tea, now spill," Damian says.

"Spill? After all your hard work? Why would I waste perfectly good-"

Damian cuts him off with one of Bruce's signature stares. Tim shuts up and shamefully wonders when he started making Dick jokes. Yes, Dick jokes with a _capital_  "D".

"What do I say to him?"

Tim, who tends to keep his advice _away_  from family matters, and also kind of needs to check his Twitter, decides to hurry up and get on with it. "'Hi, I'd like to fuck you frontways, backways, and sideways. Does that sound awesome, or what?' That's what you need to say."

Oh. So maybe Jay's patented advice _wasn't_  serious. He probably just wanted to piss off and go catch up on Supernatural. Lazy bastard.

Damian seems to take it seriously, though, and even pulls out a rickety sketchpad to take notes. Tim's kind of both pleased and horrified that his lil' bro would take it all to heart.

"A little less vulgar, perhaps," Damian says to himself, while scribbling away. "Anything else?"

"Be honest, tell him you like him, but don't get too sappy and overwhelming with it. Essentially, articulate how you feel without going full Romeo and Juliet," Tim says. He pauses, then, for effect, and continues ominously, "Never go full Romeo and Juliet."

Damian hums and repeats, "No Shakespearean-style love ballads. I understand."

"That's pretty much it. It's not as complicated as soap operas seem to think it is," Tim says. He gestures vaguely in Damian's general direction. "Plus, I'm pretty sure Colin wants to tap th-"

"Alright," Damian interrupts. "I'm done here."

He slams the door on the way out, but not before mumbling an almost remorseful thank you.

Tim's work here is done.

* * *

 

He spoke too soon. The rest of the family has taken Damian's relationship successes as an excuse to beg Tim and, occasionally, Dick, for their renowned and effective advice.

It's not that Tim doesn't enjoy helping other people get laid, or whatever, it's just that he's also kind of trying to save the world here. You know, and get laid himself. He wishes Damian had at the very least only walked in on him and Kon once, but to be fair, Tim _did_  invite him to come in whenever. If he hadn't, Colin probably would have been dead by now. Seriously. Taking down a gang of angry thugs is _not_  the way to woo your boyfriend, dammit.

This level of relationship-related incompetence seems to run deep in the veins of their little Bat Family. It's no wonder Dick took it upon himself to learn the ways of the relationship counsellor. They are entirely inept. Entirely.

It only becomes more obvious in the next few days. Stephanie asks if complimenting someone's boobs is socially acceptable, Barbara complains that selling her World of Warcraft character isn't getting her any in-game gold, and Bruce absently questions if he should _bake fucking cookies_  for Clark's birthday. Tim's still not sure if that was a joke.

His family is useless in all but fighting, he's concluded. Except Bruce. He's at least able to charm. And bake cookies.

It's when he overhears Cassandra asking if kitty faces are a flirty emoticon (that's all Selina Kyle's doing, by the way) that Tim realises he _can't_  get angry when his family comes to him for advice. If he doesn't help, they will literally fail at life.

It's at times like these where he can look objectively at his Twitter and Tumblr followers and call them normal, well-adjusted individuals. They can tell the difference between flirty and downright annoying emoticons, for God's sake.

So, he sets to work in educating his family, along with the help of his two insane older brothers, a dog, and his boyfriend, in the ways of not scaring off their potential love interests. Seriously, he is genuinely and legitimately surprised that any of them have managed to go on a date. Again, with the exception of Bruce, but that's kind of, like, his part-time job. When he's not beating criminals to a pulp, that is.

Colin doesn't die, so Tim counts it as a win all round.

* * *

 

Kon's staring at the computer screen when Tim gets back from a fight the next night.

"Why is Barbara sending you IMs about her World of Warcraft virtual bank account?" he asks. "I haven't replied or anything, but, like, what?"

"Oh," Tim says. "I guess it worked, then."

"What worked?"

"I told her there were better ways to make money than to become an in-game con artist."

"I, uh- you what?"

"This is my family, Kon," Tim explains, winking. "Are you sure you know what you've gotten into?"

Kon waves a hand. "You guys aren't as crazy as my family. One time, Clark tried to make cookies, but he set them on fire. It was a good thing Aqualad happened to be in the neighbourhood."

"So _that's_  why Bruce decided to take up baking!"

Kon laughs so hard, herbal tea comes out of his nose. When Tim quirks an eyebrow, he just splutters, "I imagined Batman in an apron. I'm not sure if I ever want to again."

Tim giggles hysterically, snorting. It's all very attractive, of course.

* * *

 

"I'm getting used to all these strange IMs now," Kon says later, "but Stephanie's escapades in boob-touching, Tim? Really?"

"I guess that compliment was flattering instead of terrifying."

Kon blinks at him. "I'm not even sure how to respond to this."

* * *

 

Tim keeps at it. While saving innocent civilians, he simultaneously saves his family and followers from disastrous decisions. It always gives him a heartwarming feeling when people write back to him about how his advice changed the face of their relationships. Plus, he gets to Tweet dumb pictures of him and Kon slurping spaghetti Lady in the Tramp style and serenading each other with Shakespearean love ballads _without_  the subsequent embarrassment. Kon has no shame, and it's glorious.

Smiling, he turns to Kon, who's currently playing Mario (without breaking the controller) and singing along with the theme music. Glorious, indeed.

Kon, sensing Tim's eyes on him, comes back to reality, then raises his head like a curious puppy. "Hey, Tim."

"Yeah?"

"Do you smell cookies?"

Oh, good. It _wasn't_  Krypto who took Tim's apron.

* * *

_FIN._


End file.
